


A Pile of Good and Bad

by Conifer



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, I'm super bad at tagging, It's pretty platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 17:15:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Conifer/pseuds/Conifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Usually, Jemma Simmons was a morning person. She usually rolled out of bed bright and early, as chipper as a songbird. But if she had anything to do with it, she would stay in bed all day today, and not talk to anyone or say anything or do anything but burrow further beneath her warm blankets and ignore the knocking forcing its way into her ears. Christmas was the last thing she felt like dealing with.<br/>Result of my participation in FitzSimmons Secret Santa on tumblr, for soufflesimmons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pile of Good and Bad

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not 100% sure when this is actually set. Somewhere around The Things We Bury, but it really doesn’t matter too much.  
> It’s more of a friendship fic than a romance fic, because a.) that’s what the prompt was, and b.) their relationship needs a bit of work before they’ll be able to actually admit how much they care each other, I think. It’s also more or less my first time properly writing these characters, so it’s probably not super great.

It was early. Too early. 

Usually, Jemma Simmons was a morning person. She usually rolled out of bed bright and early, as chipper as a songbird. But if she had anything to do with it, she would stay in bed all day today, and not talk to anyone or say anything or do anything but burrow further beneath her warm blankets and ignore the knocking forcing its way into her ears. Christmas was the last thing she felt like dealing with; too many memories and traditions she and Fitz had created what she didn't want to face the absence of.

“Come on,” Skye called as she pounded on the door, having absolutely none of Jemma’s reluctance. “We’re doing gifts, and we’re not waiting for you. Hurry up.”

Resigned to her fate and knowing that Skye would physically drag her out of bed if she didn't get up in the next few minutes, Jemma pulled a thin robe over her pajamas. They consisted of clothing that she’d stolen from Fitz years ago -- a rather threadbare but incredibly soft t-shirt and a pair of flannel pants dotted with scientifically accurate constellations, or as scientifically accurate as they could be when on a pair of pants and not in the sky.  
At first, in the Academy, the pajamas were a convenience: More often than not, she would begin to doze off on his couch after night-long marathons of nonsensical sci-fi shows, and he would refuse to let her head back to her own dorm in a half-asleep haze. Then she started just wearing them over, giving up on her perfect appearance around him. She trusted him; she needed no walls of cardigans and buttons to feel comfortable around him. Now, they were a comfort, bittersweet and perfect, reminding her of days passed. His smell still managed to linger. 

By the time she stepped out of her safe, warm room, there was little space for her to sit. Skye was sitting on the floor, Hunter and Bobbi had seemingly called an armistice and were practically sitting in each other’s laps on a chair not meant to hold two people, Coulson and May had dragged chairs from the dining room in, and Trip was taking the other open armchair.  
The only spaces that remained were the floor and the space in the couch that, once upon a time, would have left far too much space between her and Fitz, but now left no where near enough. She looked to him, as if asking permission, and he shifted aside to leave more space despite the fact it left nearly no room between him and Mack. 

Jemma strode over to the couch, feigning confidence, and sat down beside him; their legs were forced to brush against his in the small space. He didn’t seem to notice, already distracted by watching Skye sit on the floor beneath their rather pathetic tree and toss the surprisingly large amount of gifts to their recipients. Christmas, this year, had been an afterthought -- their tree wasn’t even an evergreen. It was barely even a tree, just a ficus from a hallway that they’d strung a spare strand of lights around and tossed a few ornaments on. It was simultaneously reassuring and depressing, and no one said a word about it. But they had managed presents, somehow.

Other gifts were first, some just as nearly-forgotten as the tree and others filled with kindness, but eventually avoidance became impossible, and Simmons was forced to slip her hand into the pocket of her robe and pull Fitz’s gift from the space where it lay against her leg.

"Here," she said quietly, holding the vividly-wrapped box out to him. "This is for you."

The engineer seemed honestly surprised, but he smiled politely, trying to ignore the eyes that immediately fell upon the two of them. 

"You didn't have to get me anything." Fitz said softly, but took the box from her all the same.

She replied with a tiny shrug. There were too many words, and so she settled on two that summed nearly everything up. “I did.” 

He opened the box, a soft frown crossing his lips as he looked at the contents. It was a ring, silver and shining, dotted with gears fitted neatly between two rows of teeth.

“It’s a-- Well, they’re called fidget rings,” Simmons jumped in hastily as he slipped it onto his finger and gave it a cautionary spin. “I thought - hoped, really, that it would help, as you constantly move and I can see how anxious you get when you have nothing to do, and--" She stopped suddenly, as Fitz looked up to her with a small smile. 

“Thanks. It’s- It’s perfect.” He murmured, meaning it entirely. A smile of her own met his, and he sat the box aside, grabbing another from the couch beside him.  
“-It’s not much,” He said carefully, the small box shaking in his ever-trembling hands. It was wrapped sloppily, a bow tossed on the top to attempt to salvage the job. “Sorry about the-- the--”

“The wrapping paper?” She offered softly, and he gave a her a tiny nod and a tinier smile. “It’s okay. You know I’m awful at it, too. Mine isn’t much better.”

It wasn’t much of a lie; she was awful and they both knew it, despite the fact that she was pristine and perfect at nearly everything else. They had, at one point in their years together, theorized that the wrapping paper was some sort of strange, sentient race of aliens dead-set on not cooperating with people named Jemma Simmons. They had known it was ridiculous at the time, but now that they were wrapped up in stranger things, neither would exactly be surprised. But his was definitely worse- there might have been more tape than paper, and more creases than his usual effortless edges and flat planes. She knew it must have been hard; gifts were the one thing he usually did right, and cared a lot about the appearance of. He wasn’t the best with words, but he could excel at gifts.  
But it didn’t matter. The biochemist couldn’t care less; she’d barely let herself hope they’d wish each other a ‘Merry Christmas’ and smile at each other. Besides, the thought of him attempting to wrap the small box was slightly amusing, in a rather sad sort of way.

“And besides,” She added, attempting for conspiratorial and ending up with something far less. “Wrapping paper doesn’t have to look nice. It’s only going to be torn off eventually anyways.” 

This seemed to placate him a bit, and Leo nodded softly as he handed the box over. She carefully pulled the festive paper away, ignoring how the rest of the room had seemed to silence, watching the two of them exchange gifts - the most proper interaction they’d had in ages.  
Skye elbowed May in the side, grinning brightly, though her grin was was only met with a light-hearted sigh of amusement. 

Paper peeled away, Jemma carefully opened the cardboard box on the inside and pushed aside the wrapping. It settled, forgotten, on the floor, waiting to be cleaned up later. “Oh--” She murmured softly, lifting the gift out of its housing. It was a small blue box, small enough to rest in the palm of her hand, and incredibly intricate. Everything about it was perfect, from the small lantern on the top that lit up, to the tiny lettering on the panel on the door, to the exact shade of blue. 

There was one difference, though, in the sparkling ghosts of spiraling letters that decorated the sides; Circles and lines and dots all combining into something even more stunning, words written in a language that she couldn’t read and yet could still feel the warmth from.

“You made me a TARDIS?” Simmons breathed, grinning at him. 

“...I needed a project.” He shrugged softly, but looked rather pleased with her reaction. “I thought you’d like it.”

She barely managed to set the box down before throwing her arms around him, hugging him tightly, briefly forgetting everything else. “I love it. Thank you.”  
Fitz hesitated for a moment, looking more startled at the suddenness of it than anything, but relaxed after a moment and moved to return the hug.

Jemma realised, as his hand reached around to settle his slightly shaky hand against the small of her back, that they had never been as broken as they had felt.  
They would never be _perfect_ ; their relationship would always be cracked, but they would glue it back together, piece by piece, together, until it was whole and new and good again. Until the traces of what had happened were nearly forgotten, but never completely gone. 

“Wow, guys, get a room,” Skye teased, but all it earned here was a few chuckles and a projectile of balled-up paper thrown clumsily at her head by Jemma and a bashful grin from the engineer as he pulled away.

“Shu’ up, Skye,” He chuckled softly, his hand absentmindedly linking with Jemma’s. She didn’t even notice, not at first, until his thumb brushed against the back of her hand. 

“Nah,” She grinned, quickly grabbing out her phone and snapping a photo of the two of them, still close and smiling and blushing and for once, for _once_ , feeling like things were back to normal, however brief.  
It was small, but it was a start. They could fix this. They always had, and always would.

For the curious:  
Fitz’s ring: http://www.kinektdesign.com/product-gear-ring.php

The quote on the TARDIS: “Every life is a pile of good things and bad things. The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa, the bad things don’t always spoil the good things and make them unimportant.”


End file.
